Sickness
by Broken Boys
Summary: Dean eats a bad burger and gets a serious case of Montezuma's Revenge. Warnings: graphic gastrointestinal issues, dark humor


Sickness

It hadn't even been a full thirty minutes after leaving the diner when Dean knew that something was wrong. No, scratch that. Dean knew that his life was about to suck out loud.

Sam was asleep in the passenger seat with his head resting against the window. Of course Sam would be fine. He'd had his usual salad with some frou frou girl stuff on the side while Dean scarfed down his manly, medium rare burger with all the fixings. A manly meal for a manly man.

"Damn burger," Dean said to himself as he pressed the palm of his left hand against his aching stomach.

A few minutes ago, he'd broken out in a cold sweat. He could feel it running down his back and down the crack of his...well. He could feel it dripping down the sides of his face. The palms of his hands were damp and he could feel himself starting to tremble from head to toe. As he tightly gripped the wheel of his baby with one hand and held onto his spasming gut with the other, he knew he wouldn't have long before he either puked or crapped, and the only thing he wanted was a little privacy inside of a bathroom before it happened.

Suddenly and before he could do anything to hold it at bay, his stomach emitted a deep, rolling, painful growl at the same time that something hot and thick started to roll it's way up his throat. Sam woke with a start as Dean jerked the car to the side of the road just as he started to violently vomit in his own lap. Dean would later drunkenly swear that his vomit splatter looked like a young Samuel Francis Winchester.

Sam had the sense of mind to throw the still running car into park before he jumped out of the vehicle and ran over to Dean's side. Snatching the door open, Sam helped his brother lean out of the car so that he could puke more on the ground instead of on himself. Sam did his best to help his brother while avoiding getting the shit on his boots.

"I'm oh-okay," Dean said as he gulped in a foul tasting mouth full of air.

"It was that freakin' burger, man." Dean said as he sat up with his brother's help and started to pull the ruined jacket and over shirt from his body.

"Yeah, man. I bet," Sam said as he took the ruined clothes and placed them in a ball on the floor of the rear.

"Slide over, man. I'll get us a room at the nearest motel."

"Yeah. Okay," Dean said as he squeezed his eyes shut while willing his stomach to stay in place.

Sam made quick work of his words to his sick brother. He located a motel not five minutes later. The place was a piece of crap, even by their standards, but it would have to do.

As soon as Sam opened the door to their room, Dean rocketed passed him to the bathroom, pulling the door only slightly closed behind himself. It was a good thing that Sam followed along to make sure he'd made it inside okay, because just as he stuck his head in the door, Dean's hands flew to his mouth. Sam was barely able to grab the small trash can and shove it into his seated brother's lap before Dean gave into round two of vomiting, this time with diarrhea joining the mix.

Sam felt pretty helpless as he did his best to hold his swaying brother upright on the toilet while he simultaneously puked and painted the toilet water brown.

Sam couldn't help but be worried, but he also knew this had happened in the past and would continue to happen to them from time to time. Traveler's sickness was just one of the unfortunate things that came with the nomadic life they lived. Fortunately, they'd just restocked the first aid kit, so as soon as Sam felt okay to leave his brother alone for a couple minutes, he rushed out to the car to grab their bags and the medicine kit.

After getting everything in the room and making sure that the salt lines were in place, he gave his brother a good dose of meds and sat down to rest his eyes for a minute. He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

For the first couple hours, Dean is able keep his emotions together. Each trip from the bed to the bathroom and back zaps a little more of his energy. Each trip back to the bed is a little bit harder to make on his own. His feet drag a little more. His abused backside burns a little more. His stomach cramps a little harder. He feels weaker and emptier and more drained.

And as his body gets closer and closer to the point where it has nothing left to expel, his emotions began to get the better of him.

When it happens, he can't remember how many times he'd struggled on his own to make it to the toilet. All he knows it that one minute he feels like he may be able to make it there on his own, and the next minute dizziness causes his knees to buckle and he's crashing to the floor hard. He lands with his hand fisted under his stomach and the upward pressure causes bile to rush up his throat and dribble out from between his dry lips. His whimper as his stomach painfully cramps is instantly followed by a gasp of horror as he feels something warm and wet spread down between his legs.

Dean knows he's crying, and he doesn't care. Yeah, sh!t happens. But this is taking the saying a little too far, even for him.

Sam jerks awake where he'd been nodding against the headboard when he hears his brother fall. In the back of his mind, he takes in the sight of Dean's stained boxers and the bright yellow bile flowing from between his lips, but the thing that strikes him like a fist to the gut is that Dean is struggling to get to his knees, but his body is just too weak to cooperate. His mind flashes a crude image of a newborn deer before he snaps himself back to reality.

Sam places Dean's arm around his neck and uses strength gained from years of physical training to pull them both to their feet. He wraps his other arm around Dean's waist to help support his brother who's as weak as a kitten. As he drags/walks hit brother to the bathroom, he groans in sympathy as the tight hold he has around his brother's waist seems to push more bile up from his belly.

Foregoing the toilet, Sam somehow wrestles his weak and nearly unresponsive brother into the tub. Setting the shower to warm, he allows the falling water to wash down the drain the evidence of his brother's sickness. He realizes that it should feel awkward seeing his brother like this, but he knows if the roles were reversed, Dean would do the same for him.

After about five minutes under the warm spray of the shower, Dean starts to come around and Sam lets out a sigh of relief. Sam helps Dean slowly stand up in the shower so that he can get him cleaned up properly. Dean insists that he can do it own his own, but Sam quickly grabs the soap and cloth and takes the decision away from his brother.

Dean's pretty quiet during the short process. Sam can't tell if it's from mortification or sickness, but he guesses it's a little of both. It only takes a minute for Sam to get Dean clean, during which he swears he hears his brother mumble something about 'bad touch.'

Sam helps Dean to dry off and slide on a pair of clean boxers. Slowly, they make their way back to the beds while avoiding all kinds of disgusting obstacles in the process. Sam pretty quickly decides to settle Dean in his bed. Apparently, Dean had somehow made a mess of his own before collapsing to the floor and making a mess of the carpet as well. Housekeeping would not be happy with them, but he's sure this helhole has probably seen both similar and worse in its time.

Sam gives his brother another dose of Pepto and gets him to sip a little ginger ale. Sam knows that Dean's stomach, bottom, and everything else between has to hurt like hell after all that he's been through, but Dean stubbornly refuses the pain pill his brother tries to give him.

Traveler's sickness is just one of the unfortunate things that comes with the nomadic life they live. Fortunately, this case of it ends almost as fast as it comes on. Sam wakes in the morning to find himself resting against the headboard with something warm and heavy leaning against his entire left side. When he looks over, Dean is looking up at him while batting his eyelashes like some crazed anime character. Dean's face is still much too pale and there are gray circles under his eyes, but nothing can deny the mischievous glint in those beautiful green orbs that lets Sam know everything is going to be okay.

"Why the hell are you looking at me like that, man?" Sam asks as he tries to pull away from Dean while trying to figure out why his brother has such a crazy look in his eyes.

"Dutch oven!" Dean yells as he lets one rip and pulls the covers up over Sam's head.

Sam shrieks as the smell hits his nose, but he knows Montezuma won't be the only one getting his revenge. Dean's going to be doing his own shitty, pukey laundry and cleaning the vomit off the seats of his precious baby. Dean should know better than to mess with a Winchester.

-the end-


End file.
